In the oddities shop
where I never go
except when I don’t know what I’m
I find a small brown speckled box tied with twine.
Inside a nest of shredded paper
and five small soaps
shaped like robin’s eggs.
The blue is yours.
You’ve claimed it.
Now I can give it to you.
Whatever severed that connection
if not what feels like forgiveness,
- Jane Flint